


In the distance, hear the laughter

by marlowe78



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Hurt Dean Winchester, Season 6 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe78/pseuds/marlowe78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean meets an unexpected adversary</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the distance, hear the laughter

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: It's that time of the year where I creep out from under my rock and do fic. With other words: hoodie_time's Dean-focused hurt/comfort comment-fic meme (#4) Check the prompt from wynefred here. And dude, her prompts are gold, so maybe go and write one yourself!
> 
> (Oh, for anyone who doesn't realize, I snagged the title from a song - cookies for who can tell me which one)

That was…

Dean stood transfixed by the sight in front of him. There was a … it must be a horse, Dean decided, while America kept twittering ‘I’m alive, I’m alive’ in his head.

When the creature turned, he couldn’t deny it any longer. It was a freaking unicorn. Complete with sparkles and swishy tail.

And it stared at him, like a bird, or that one particular curious angel he knew, with huge eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes. Its horn glistened in the moonlight, darker than he’d thought it would be.

If, you know, Dean Winchester had ever believed in unicorns, or imagined them.

The slim, elegant figure of the animal shuddered, and Dean was reminded of all those tales – the ones he never read, of course – where unicorns were delicate and peaceful, and only those of a pure heart would be able to see it. For a split-second, he basked in the amazement that a mythical animal would grant him this sight, and that such a pure thing would think him worthy of seeing it.

Yeah, he still had some issues in that direction. Sue him.

It looked like a horse, but not. It was smaller than any horse, but not stumpy and cute like a pony. It didn’t look cute, even with those huge eyes.

Its mane was long and wavy, shimmering like silk in the pale light of the full moon. The legs were long and thin, but they didn’t seem fragile. Rather, they looked sturdy and powerful, the muscles of the hindquarters and shoulders looked like steal-bands. This horse wouldn’t pull a wagon, but not because it wasn’t able to, Dean thought.

The creature shifted a bit, head raised, trying to get a scent or a noise or anything else to tell what had disturbed it.

Its color was hard to describe, a bit pink – he smiled at that - and the next instance, the muscles moved and the fur turned icy-silver. In some places, it was so dark that it looked black, but that must’ve been the light, because everyone knew unicorns weren’t black.

Right. Just like everyone knew ghosts weren’t real and vampires didn’t exist. Or that angels were cute fluffy fat kids with wings and harps.

Dean shifted, only a minute move, but it was enough. The horse’s head turned rapidly towards him, focusing right on Dean.

“Uh-ou…” Dean muttered, because even though this thing was more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, it didn’t look very friendly. Oh. And now that it had turned, the dark color of its horn was suddenly explained.

Blood glistened in a shiny film along the smooth appendage, some drops had fallen between its eyes and into the mane, giving the animal a cruel tinge to its ethereal beauty.

It snorted and shifted the hooves, and with a furious glare, it charged.

Dean didn’t wait, he raised his gun and fired, the silver bullet hitting right into the chest of the beast, which didn’t slow it down, didn’t do anything except make it even more furious. It lowered its head, the pointy, bloody and horribly dangerous-looking horn now about chest-level.

Of course, why would anything work, it never really did, Dean thought but didn’t stick around to see what might work. He sprang to the side just as the beast passed him, made it miss. It needed a few strides to stop, but when it did, it swung around fast and viciously gave chase.

Dean ran and dodged, knowing that a human wouldn’t be able to outrun a horse, not even a Shetland-pony and this animal was much, much faster. The long, thin legs were made for running through leaves and jumping over shrubs, made for spinning around to never let the prey escape.

‘Dear heavens, don’t let anyone ever find out that I was a unicorn’s prey.’ But the thought never made it much further than his brain, because he needed to dodge again, heard the hooves slide and slip in the wet leaves. He was sure there’d be a great funny moment, the horse-like creature trying to unscramble its legs, but he didn’t have the luxury to look, or even think about it too much.

“Sam!” he yelled, hoping his brother was close enough to hear him.

The horse gave a cruel whinny and a snort, he heard it closing in on him. Something hard was poking him and he pushed himself to the right, rolled, was up on his legs again and running. It hurt. His lungs hurt, his legs hurt and he knew, freaking knew that he wouldn’t be able to run much further. He didn’t even know where he was running to; all the dodging and weaving had left him without a clue where he was.

“Dean” he heard, somewhere to the left. He lengthened his strides more, giving it all, and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“SA…!”

He didn’t even get to end the short name, that sharp thing he’d felt before poked him and he stumbled, and before he knew it the poking was a burning, stabbing, viciously hurting push that felt quite like that time in Hell when some demon had driven a hot poker through his body.

He fell, but didn’t. Instead, the pain increased tenfold, he was shaken by something or someone and only then did he fall, left on the ground, sharp hooves digging into his legs. The animal wasn’t that heavy, but it was enough to hurt. He felt the hot, wet breath of the thing against his back, where apparently his shirt had rucked up during the chase and fall, and something tore out of him, some piece of him – a bone maybe? The pain was so intense, so familiar and yet so new that he screamed, screamed like he’d done in Hell for ages, and then, thankfully, blissfully, the world and with it the agony dulled to a dark, misty gray that turned into black.

 

***

 

Sam struggled up the small incline, already out of breath from running since he’d first heard Dean yell. Because Dean didn’t yell like that. Not if it wasn’t serious.

Gasping, he stopped to get his bearings. Somewhere around here he’d heard the aborted scream which told him something bad was going on. And considering the way those girls had looked after the… whatever had killed them, it wasn’t a bad guess.

They’d come to Christstown two days earlier, after Sam hadn’t been able to stand Bobby’s place much longer. All had treated him like an invalid, except he was perfectly healthy, and in much better form than ever before.

So he’d gladly jumped on the case of the abducted and mutilated teenage girls in Christstown, Georgia. Their hearts had been ripped out – so the official coroner’s report, which might’ve been interpreted so it would fit the belief that it’d been some wacko killer. To Sam and Dean, it screamed werewolf. Or skinwalker, maybe.

They had left South Dakota and Bobby, indulging for a few days in the freedom of the road with no obligation except reaching Georgia. Even though he’d bitched about the cramped confinement of the Impala, Sam had loved every minute of it.

After they’d reached Christstown and booked a room, they’d dressed up and visited the morgue. Sadly, there’d been another attack. The girl, Salina Deveroux , had been fifteen and according to her parents, the best daughter anyone could imagine. She’d never been out long, never messed with boys and never did anything that might've lead to concern.

Looking at her, Sam’d had to agree that they probably were right. Salina’d been plain, a bit chubby. Sure, she’d been dead when he’d looked at her, but her photos hadn’t shown more which might prove them wrong.

“Poor kid” Dean had said “Dead before she ever got to know the awesomeness of sex”

Sam had slapped him for that, but silently, he’d agreed. And the coroner, who should know, had confirmed it: She’d been a good girl. Yet still there she’d lain, cold, dead, stitched together as far as possible, with multiple wounds that looked like stab-wounds and torn-out fleshwounds. Her ribcage’d been cracked open – very crudely done – and her heart … gone.

It hadn’t taken long for them to find the thing all dead girls had in common, and the plan – as it was – to kill the werewolf had been swiftly made.

Because what else could it be other than a werewolf? Even the moon-phase fit. The girls had died on the night of the full moon, and the Winchesters had prepared for battling a shapeshifting entity, which meant silver bullets.

So, what Sam expected to see was a furry beast or a man-shaped feral being that would be struggling with his brother.

What he saw, though, was nothing like that.

Downhill, in between the young, thin birches, was a sight that took his breath away. He’d always been a fan of “The last Unicorn”, more the book than the movie, but he’d secretly fallen in love with the movie-unicorn. And no, not really so much with the human form of it.

The ethereal being, this otherworldly beauty had taken his breath away, and he’d never admitted it to anyone. But he’d seen the tears in Dean’s eyes whenever the movie was on, and so he hadn’t felt too ashamed of his feelings.

And now there it was, the unicorn. Its head was raised in an elegant bow, the horn pointed towards the ground. One hoof was raised, poised to paw the earth and its long tail swished in the cool night-air.

It was a stunning view, and Sam nearly dropped his gun, his hectic breathing slowing to a near stop.

That was the moment he took in the foreign object on the horn. It looked like a piece of cloth, but now that he watched closer, Sam realized there was blood on the intricately twisted horn. And that the mound of dirt was, in fact, his brother.

“HEY!” he roared, forgot his stinging side and ran full speed down the hill. He raised his gun and fired, not stopping even when the animal stepped back, shaking its head in irritation.

“Fuck off!” Sam yelled and kept on firing until his gun was empty. Without looking, he grabbed some more ammo from his pocket, loaded and fired once more.

That shot had a different effect.

The unicorn swayed, its legs buckled and it dropped, quite unceremoniously, on the ground, right next to Dean.

Sam didn’t stop , not even a second. He just shot twice more while walking steadily, with long strides, towards his brother and after giving off a final head-shot, dropped on his knees to examine the damage. Later, he would come to the conclusion that silver, as a pure metal, wouldn't do much good with a beast from the fairy-world, but regular bullets would. Right then, he had other concerns.

The shirt was torn, and so was the skin underneath. A big chunk was literally ripped out of Dean’s back, leaving a narrow wound from right next to the spine up over the ribs and across the shoulder-blade to the shoulder. It looked nasty, like the horn had dug into his brother’s back and then been ripped out when he stumbled and fell.

It explained why the girls had looked like they were stabbed, and the fact that a unicorn was the culprit also cast a light ton the lack of defensive wounds. What little girl would be afraid of a unicorn?

Sam wiped his sweaty and dirty palms on the inside of his shirt and took a closer look at the wound on Dean. It appeared that except for that huge scratch – rip would be a more accurate term – nothing else was damaged. Underneath his hands, Dean groaned and moved, stiffened suddenly and tried to twist around and dislodge the weight on his back.

“Lay still, it’s me.”

Dean stilled at once.

“Ok, let’s get you up. Just…careful. I don’t wanna dig dirt and leaves outta your back”

“Oh, right. What wouldn’t I do so you don’t get inconvenienced, Sammy” his brother groaned, but he raised himself to hands and knees and with Sam’s help managed to sit up and stand. Bowed down so the strain on his wound wasn’t so bad, he turned and took in the dead animal.

“Wow. That looks nasty…”

It wasn’t pretty anymore. Instead, there in the forest lay a black-brown, decaying horse-like thing, with stubbly mane and no tail, short legs and an ugly head with tiny, beady and now dead eyes. The horn was more like a stick, bent and crooked.

“Right… let’s go. The car is…” Sam turned in a circle “that way” and he pointed north.

“Yeah, ok. Lead on, Baden-Powell”

****

The ride back had been silent, Dean sprawled on the backseat on his belly, mumbling protests when Sam took a turn too fast and he had to clamp his hands on something so he wouldn't drop to the floor.

In the light of the motel-room, the injury didn’t look so bad anymore. Well, of course it was still a long gash, and the horn had ripped away some skin and also flesh. But the muscle seemed to be less affected than Sam had feared.

“Stop whining, little princess!” he teased when Dean moaned into the pillow, apparently not liking the alcohol in the wound.

“Shu'up, you’re the princess!”

“Oh? Let me remind you who got chased by a unicorn.”

“Shut up and sew me up, Sam”

He did, and smiled. If Dean bitched, he wasn't that badly injured.

 

“'r you r'dy soon, Dr Doom?”

“Stop moving. You’ve still got about… twenty or so stitches left.” It was a lot of stitching, sure, but Dean’d gotten a nice shot of painkillers that left him sprawling lethargically on the bed. He was pliant and Sam sometimes heard him silently muttering about unicorns, freaking unicorns and fucking horns, why d’n they shoot rainbows, fuckers. He had to suppress a chuckle more than once.

“Son of a bitch” Dean cursed when Sam pushed a needle deep into his skin and flesh, catching on a nerve probably because the painkillers didn’t stop that sharp sting.

“Whoops, sorry”

“Yeahyeah… d’d tha on pu’p’se, S’mmy…” And just like that, Dean was under again, drifting somewhere in a land of hopefully nice things. Maybe non-virgins. Or something.

****

It was really annoying. Sam was flipping between being a hovering mother-hen and a bitch. One minute, he was teasing Dean about getting ‘boned by a unicorn – or would that be horned?’, next he’d switch on the puppy-eyes and arrange the cushions for Dean’s back.

Which should be nice and fine, but it just kept gritting on his nerves. Dean wasn’t the type to wallow in pain and misery, he liked to pretend everything was fine and dandy. Maybe it was ingrained in him because showing weakness might prove fatal, or it might have been learned by example from their father. Maybe it was just his way of dealing with pain. But Sam seemed determined – more than before he'd gone... there – to do right by his brother, even though Dean would’ve preferred much less cushion-fluffing and buying him his favourite food if it meant that Sam stopped smirking and whinnying every five minutes.

It was just natural that he flinched!

So he was really glad when he was finally able to sit with his back against something and his deeply bruised thighs where the unicorn had been standing on had gotten back to its usual colour.

“Boys, I got a job for ya” Bobby said on the phone. “there’s this thing in Montana, kids keep getting hurt and bloodied.” Dean switched his cell to the other hand, grabbed a pen.

“Ok, shoot”

“There’s this place, tenth kid’s been injured now in the last two weeks”

“Any deaths?”

“Not so far. Go, dig up somethin’. Place’s called … wait…” Dean heard the rustling of paper in the background and Bobby coughing “… here it is.” Bobby’s voice was rough from the coughing “It’s called… ’Durango Riding Farm’. Maybe they’ve got a… unicorn invasion?“

“SAM! You bitch!” Dean roared, still hearing the Bobby's cackles through the phone. “You promised not to tell Bobby!” he growled and threw the pen at Sam, who was on the bed, curled around his stomach and laughing so hard that snot and tears were running into the pillows.

“… an’ … an’ you actually believed that?” his voice was high-pitched, like it had been when he’d hit puberty. “God, Dean…. Your face…. Priceless…“

 

Really. Why couldn’t it have been werewolves?


End file.
